


Never wait so long

by gloss



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Beards (Facial Hair), Blow Jobs, Comeplay, Community: seasonofkink, Dirty Talk, Facials, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 21:29:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7137944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finn sure likes this beard that Poe's sprouted, and he's going to come all over it.</p><p>(Porn. Just...porn.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never wait so long

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Pixies, [Here Comes Your Man](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BuNXzklTPtk).
> 
> Thanks to Tumblr pals for being all validating and encouraging. ♥
> 
> For the "facials/bukkake" square on my seasonofkink card. I couldn't have done it without [this gif set](http://spaceoperafeerie.tumblr.com/post/144350367569/jakegyllcnhaal-oscar-isaac-talks-ex-machina).

They're all alone out here.

Drifting like this, it could be dreamlike, except for how it's _cold_ and edged with fear and very, very boring. They've been waiting over four standard days. BB-8 all but shut down save for comlinks to conserve power a while back, so it might be longer. Judging by the heaviness of Poe's beard, it could be weeks.

"Funny," he says when Finn says that and kicks Finn lightly in the ribs. "My people are hairy, what can I do? You've seen Kes."

What were close quarters when they set out to rejoin the fleet have now become nearly unbearable. This old starship has a pilot's seat, a gunner's perch, two bunks, a cargo hold the size of another bunk that doubles as a chemical toilet, and a handheld sonic fresher. It was never meant for long-haul trips, let alone for depowered deadspace drift while they wait for their distress signal to reach someone, anyone.

They've played every variation of sabacc they can remember, and made up a few, including a fairly intricate dice variation of strip sabacc. They played that one to a draw, several times over, then had to bundle up under the emergency blankets to get warm again.

They've sung every song they know and, yes, made up more.

They're conserving fluids and ration packets.

They're _bored_.

"I'm not complaining," Finn says. "I'm just observing. It's _fascinating_."

Snorting, Poe cocks his head. "It's just a beard, man."

"It's like a whole living organism. Something symbiotic, half-mammal, half-moss." Finn leans in, narrowing his eyes, really studying the waves and antic silvery threads. He lowers his voice, even though it truly is just them for light years in every direction. "Is it sentient? You can tell me."

Poe kicks him, not even as hard as last time, and licks his lips. "You need something there, pal? You're real close."

"I'm bored," Finn tells him, leaning even closer. "Let me have this."

"What? Making fun of me?"

"Yeah, exactly." Finn touches the edge of Poe's beard, tracing how it matches the angle of his cheekbone, blurring the familiar lines of his face, only to dip suddenly just above his lips. "Possibly discovering a new sentient life form."

"What're you going to call it? Barba finnensis?"

"Mmm," Finn says, considering. "Sexface dameronia."

Poe blinks at that, taking a sharp little breath. Finn gets a nice little surge of pride. Something about taking Mr. Cool and Confident by surprise is always going to feel good, but right now, when they're just about ready to crawl out of their skins with boredom and irritation, all the better.

"Tell me more," Poe says, recovering all too quickly, opening his legs and drawing Finn up onto the edge of his seat. His palms settle on the rise of Finn's ass as Finn braces one knee on the seat, one hand on the back, just beside Poe's head.

He goes back to tracing the beard, twisting a few curls experimentally around his finger; they're still too short to do very much with, not like the hair on Poe's head, which has ringlets and a slight halo of frizz. He strokes the mustache with his thumb and index finger, starting with them together right under Poe's nose, then splitting apart, again and again. The hair is silky against his fingertips.

"How's it go from scratchy-ass stubble to silky beard?" Finn murmurs, wiggling a little so Poe has to spread his legs further open.

"That, my friend, I do not know."

"You should," Finn says, tugging on the little forelock right at the divot over Poe's chin, where most of the silver gathers. "What kind of a symbiotic host are you?"

"Clearly a terrible one. Insensitive, self-obsessed, the whole deal." Poe licks his lips again, more slowly, looking Finn over. He shivers a little when Finn runs two fingers over his jaw to pet the hair right beneath, in the hollow.

Finn's smile slants up; he feels it like a breath of hot air. "You like that?"

Poe slips down a little in the seat so he's looking up at Finn, rolling his shoulders, spreading his legs, grasping Finn's ass hard. "Do I?"

"Think you do." Finn back-combs all four fingers up against the grain, from the bottom of Poe's throat up over his chin, then brushes them against Poe's wet lower lip.

Poe's eyes close for a couple moments before he shifts a little more down and opens his mouth. At first he just lightly breathes a kiss, more a general reference to contact than anything substantial. Then his gaze flicks up to Finn and his tongue rolls over the fingers, over nails and cuticles, bone and sensitive tips.

"Got me," Poe says eventually. "I do." He firms his lips around Finn's fingers, just down to the first knuckle, pushing the flat of his tongue up against them, humming a little.

"Fuck," Finn says, huffs out a breath, then says it again. His thumb, still outside Poe's mouth, scratches through the border between lip and beard. 

Poe swallows, then again, and with a lift, then widening, of his eyes, seems to check with Finn that Finn noticed. He waggles his eyebrows, just to be sure. How could Finn not have noticed? Finn nods, hastily, _rubbing_ the pad of his thumb now against the corner of Poe's lips.

Poe opens his mouth and Finn hooks his fingers over the row of bottom teeth. Even so, Poe says, a little thickly, "You knew where this was going."

"I did," Finn says, and grins as he pushes Poe's shoulder down with his free hand. "I'm a master strategist."

"Master--"

"Yeah, yeah, that, too," Finn says and drags his fingers off Poe's teeth, through his beard, then back into his hair. He pushes his hips forward, rolling from his knees upward, unmistakably. "Would you?"

Poe's lashes flutter. "Would I what?"

"Poe, _fuck_ \--"

"Oh!" Poe tilts back his head, beaming up at him. "You could've just _said_."

"Thought I did."

"I'm a simple guy," Poe says, tugging open the fasteners on Finn's trousers. "Best to just lay it all out for me. Or lay me out, that works, too."

"Fingerfucking your face isn't simple enough?"

Poe's brow jumps up. "Too subtle. Way too subtle."

"Next time, I should just -- what, kneel on you, whip my dick out?"

Poe swallows, hands flexing against Finn's thighs. "Fuck. Fuck, yeah, that'd work. _Do that_. Promise you'll do that?"

"Freak," Finn says lightly. He shifts his weight from foot to foot to get his trousers to slip down. He rolls his hips again and his erection brushes the side of Poe's hand. The urgency is sudden and irresistible, which somehow surprises him every single time. "Come _on_."

"You have to promise first," Poe says, almost primly, crossing his arms over his chest. The way he juts out his chin has to be exactly what he did when he was five, or nine, and trying to argue a late bedtime.

"I promise," Finn says. His throat is filled with sharp gravel. "I promise twice. Three times. Ten."

"You don't even know what you're promising."

Finn tightens his fingers in Poe's hair and twists a little, enough for Poe's eyes to go wide and bright and his lips to part. "I promise to fuck your mouth, Poe Dameron. I promise to do it hard, and deep, and make you work for it. Is that better?"

Something trembles through Poe, slow, then fast, loosening his posture but sharpening his gaze, dropping open his mouth and dropping his spine. He pushes his hands up over Finn's hips and hauls him close, dipping his head to meet him. Warm breath breaks over the wet head of Finn's dick, makes him shudder, and Poe shudders, too, half a second later, a mirror on delay.

"That's better," he says. He smiles sweetly up at Finn, so sweetly, before his tongue runs around and wets his whole mouth, then traces the ridge of Finn's cockhead. He dips the tip against Finn's slit, then presses in, just enough that Finn rocks forward, hard, nearly losing his balance. "Much better."

Finn watches Poe's mouth - the familiar lips, unfamiliar texture of hair circling them - wrap around his shaft, push a little way down. It's dark in here, so everything's reduced to essentials, complicating details fallen away. His knee slips a little on the seat and he adjusts, rising a little, tugging Poe's head with him, lifting his chin, opening his jaw. The trail of spit when Poe pulls up a little, then pushes down, is shining up at Finn as Poe's tongue is beating, curving, against him. 

Finn's warm for the first time since they started drifting, it feels like. Poe's mouth passes it into him, presses it under his skin, lets it spread up through him. 

And there are Poe's eyelashes, curving thickly downward, the glint of his eyes going up. His mouth is stretched and filled as he hums, happily, almost joyously, sucking harder, digging his fingers into Finn's hips. When Finn starts rocking forward, gently at first, Poe hums faster, approvingly, pulling at him.

Poe moves his head, testing Finn's hold on his hair, gaze sly even from this angle. Finn clenches his hand, tugs Poe back, and Poe's eyebrows leap excitedly, his tongue flutters faster. He slips further down until Finn is just about kneeling over him, thrusting downward.

Finn used to think he was bad at talking dirty and all those other strange, extraneous, _exciting_ things around sex that Poe so excels at. He knew how to have sex, sure, but Poe knew how to stretch it out, bat it around, make it fun.  The secret's no secret, Poe finally said, when Finn, tongue-tied and painfully hard, finally asked what the hell he was supposed to say, how was he supposed to make it sound good. Just say what you want. That's all I want to hear, anyway. All I do, too.

That, Finn could do. That, he realized, he _really_ liked to do. Talking dirty's all a preview, a taste, a hint of what's going to happen. Rather than reducing the truth, all these references build it higher, elaborate it, make it even better.

Because here he is now, hand twisted in Poe's hair, thumb almost scraping along the lump in Poe's cheek, watching how it distends under his beard, slips and dips and moves the beard, changes the depthless texture of hair and skin. Here he is, thrusting harder than he's ever let himself (so far as he remembers, but higher cognitive functions are not exactly working just now), Poe's arms wrapped around him, holding him close as he can, swallowing so that Finn's cock keeps pushing into his throat, popping back out, pushing in. The tense, slick heat is more than enough to make Finn's spine, all the way to the top of his skull, go bright and transparent, unreal, irradiated. But there's also the stuttering music of Poe's moans buzzing around, into, him, and the racket of Finn's own breath, the _sight_ of himself pushing in and the resulting drag across, down, Poe's tongue.

His balls ache. He's got his nails in Poe's scalp and Poe's hands on his ass, pulling him open, massaging him, almost - somehow - _milking_ him.

Just say what you want.

"Poe, _damn it_ \--" Finn's hips snap as he pulls Poe's head all the way back, his eyes gone full and wide. He tries to keep Finn's shaft between his lips; his beard winks dark and silver. "I'm going to come, I'm going to --"

Poe swallows rapidly, not moaning so much any more. It's more frantic than that, rapid little pulses and a needy wheeze out his nose.

"Coming _on you_ ," Finn gets out.

Poe doesn't let up, quite, but everything about him relaxes slightly at that, _softens_ , and he looks blissed-out, ready and waiting and _beautiful_ , the red of his lower lip shining with spit and pre-cum, one hand falling off Finn's hip. 

Poe _slackens_ , staring at Finn, his mouth fallen open and remaining hand clutch-release-clutching at Finn's hip. He swallows one more time, his Adam's apple bobbing down below the line of his beard, then back up.

"Please," Poe says, his voice clogged with spit and need and friction. "Fuck, please."

Finn leans back, his thigh muscles jumping, and jacks himself once, twice, three times. His palm takes up all of Poe's spit, his own pre-cum, his thumb flicks over the head. Poe licks his lower lip, just once, his chest fills as he inhales.

He really does moan, throaty and loud, gravelly, as Finn shoots -- the first ribbon transects his dark, swollen mouth, the next becomes a wide splotch across the beard on his chin, the third is a forking band down his cheek. Poe's turning toward Finn's shooting cock, with it, leaning in. When Finn's just about finished, just a few thick droplets to wring out, Poe leans all the way in and rubs his bearded cheek against the head.

That fucking _hurts_ , bristles in raw skin, and it's _great_ , too. Finn groans at the pain, at the sight. 

He drops down until they're face to face, until he can see the come clumping and decorating Poe's beard, separating out some locks, beading on the tips of others, smearing over his mouth into the hair. If the beard blurred his face, the come further blurs the beard, renders him all the softer, permeable, _sweeter_.

"Fuck," Finn breathes out and Poe's kissing him then, mouth so sour and sticky, arms going around Finn's neck, one leg wrapping around the back of Finn's knee.

He's kissing Finn, holding the back of his head like you'd hold a baby (or the chamber of a blaster while cleaning it), cradling him, rubbing his face against Finn's until they're equally smeared and sticky and breathless.

"We'll get out of here," Poe tells him, and when Finn grunts, "we _will_."


End file.
